It's the Right Thing
by Eagle32nd
Summary: Yet another alternate ending to "The Last Kiss Goodnight" (S05E12) and "Dead Asleep" (S05E13). Every fan of the show has one in their mind. This is mine, put to print. Rated T for one brief suggestive scene.


_A little back-story -_

 _At 10pm on December 10, 1995, I turned on the TV to watch 'Silk Stalkings'. I was excited that Chris and Rita had become a couple and then married, and I wondered how everything was going to work out with them no longer partners. I turned off the TV one hour later completely stunned. As I lay in bed, I comforted myself with the thought that, next week, Rita's dream about her husband's death would end and things would continue as they had. Of course, that didn't happen. From the opening credits, where Rob Estes' picture and name were missing, I knew Chris had actually died. I watched 'Dead Asleep', witnessed Mitzi's departure, and never watched another episode beyond that._

 _The treatment of Mitzi's character really angered me. Yeah, it's just a TV show, but still...a pregnant, grieving widow? How callous! For years, I thought about how it should have ended. Others have written their ideas in this forum and I think they are fantastic. My desire is to take nothing away from the excellent work they have done._

 _This is my perspective. This is what I think should have - or could have - happened. We pick up the story at the point of "The Exchange"..._

* * *

Sunday - December 10, 1995

 _After the exchange with Jesus Montoya, Chris and Rita walked back to his car, holding each other. As Chris opened the car door for his wife, the goalie who had been playing street hockey began skating towards them. He approached, pulled out a machine gun, and began firing at the two of them._

 _Chris pushed Rita inside the car while simultaneously reaching for his gun..._

The skater's first shots missed their target, as did those from Chris' gun. But each found their mark eventually, and Chris felt the searing pain of a slug that missed the bulletproof vest he was wearing and tore through his left shoulder.

But he had fired a shot that hit his attacker in the throat, blowing open a hole in his neck and severing the carotid artery. The skater's momentum carried him past Chris, who watched him glide and then collapse to the ground, where his body spasmed and jerked for a few moments before lying still. The echoes of their gun play bounced off surrounding surfaces, gradually replaced by silence.

Chris slumped to the ground against the car. "Rita, are you alright?" he gasped, as the pain in his shoulder began to register in his head.

His wife turned and said with a heavy breath, "I'm fine, are you ok?"

"I'm hit. I took one in the left shoulder."

Rita jumped out of the car and saw her husband slumped down, grimacing in pain. There was blood dripping down the side of the car and a dark stain on his coat. "Dear God, Christopher, you're bleeding badly!"

"I'll be alright, but my shoulder's pretty bad. Your gun is on the floor in the car. Grab it, just in case!"

She got back in the car, found her weapon, picked up the radio and spoke rapidly, "Officer down! At beach parking, North Shoreline Drive. Officer down!"

She turned to see Chris walking slowly toward the goalie who had shot him. His gun was unsteady, but pointed at the hit man, looking for any movement. From the back, she could see a matching dark stain on the upper left of his jacket - the exit wound. She chambered a round in her nine millimeter and ran to catch him as he reached the body, where he first kicked the machine gun away, then bent down to check for a pulse. There was none.

Chris stumbled and fell to his knees. Rita helped him to the ground, crying and telling him to keep still. She hugged and kissed him as sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder.

"Stay with me, Christopher! Don't leave me, please, don't leave me."

It was only a few minutes before officers and medics surrounded the two detectives. They tended to Chris, who was now pale and weak, cutting away his jacket and shirt and working to patch him up before putting him on a gurney and moving him to the back of the ambulance. Rita climbed in with her husband and spoke with the medics.

"Mrs. Lorenzo, my name is Capps and that's Jefferson. We're taking your husband to Good Samaritan Medical, unless you have a preference."

"Good Samaritan is my preference. How is Chris?" she asked, holding his hand and sniffling.

"He's lost some blood, but we've got him stabilized. I think the gunshot wound appears a lot worse than it is, but we'll need to take X-rays to determine if anything is broken or requires surgery to fix. Are you alright?"

Rita looked at her husband and sighed as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Yeah, I'm fine. Chris pushed me into the car when the shooting started. I'm pregnant - just about finished with the first trimester."

Capps immediately moved over, giving her a more comfortable place to sit.

"I understand why Lorenzo would want to go alone, but it doesn't change the fact that he should have had backup!" It was clear that Captain Lipschitz was frustrated with Chris as he spoke to Rita outside his hospital room, where doctors were busy looking him over. The gunshot wound was, in and of itself, not life-threatening and would heal with time. The major concern was broken bones or bone chips, working into the shoulder, causing more pain, loss of mobility, and increasing the risk of infection.

"Cap, if Montoya had sniffed the presence of others, he would have killed us both. Christopher felt that he had no choice in the matter."

Harry shook his head in disagreement, believing Montoya's goal was to kill them both regardless, but he let the matter be. There was no point debating with his new Lieutenant now. That would come later.

Holly, who was standing quietly with them, put her hand on Rita's shoulder. "I'm so sorry. This is my fault, but I'm so gla..."

"This is not your fault!" Rita shot back as Holly pulled her hand back and looked at the floor. "Don't say that. We are not here because of you. We are here because a gunman hired by Jesus Montoya tried to kill my husband. You aren't responsible for that!"

Realizing she had spoken much too harshly, Rita softened her tone and patted Holly's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Holly. I didn't mean to bark. I'm a little wound up. Look, Chris took down the gunman. Go and track down Jesus Montoya - he's the killer behind the gun.

"I'll go with you," Harry said to Holly before turning to Rita, "You going to be alright?"

When Rita nodded, he and Holly headed out.

Rita had only been sitting a few minutes when the doctor came out and asked her to come in. She entered the room and saw Chris on the bed, an IV in his arm, and several other wires running from under his hospital gown to machines displaying information behind him. His eyes were closed and he wasn't moving. For the briefest of moments, panic surged through her - her husband appeared to be dead.

She walked toward him as the doctor spoke quietly. "Mrs. Lorenzo, I'm Doctor Vincennes, and your husband is sleeping right now. We've given him some pain medication that has knocked him down. I'm afraid he is going to need surgery. The bullet that hit your husband went through, but not cleanly. He has a torn bursa sac and a damaged shoulder joint. If he wants normal shoulder function in the future, we have to go in and repair it. The surgery takes about ninety minutes and doesn't appear at all complicated, but we won't know precisely until we get in there."

Rita absentmindedly ran her hand over her belly as she listened and then asked, "When will you perform the procedure and what kind of recovery will Chris need?"

"I've scheduled surgery for first thing tomorrow morning, at seven thirty. If there are no complications, Chris can go home Tuesday. As far as recovery, he will be in a sling for three or four weeks, then very restricted movement for a couple of weeks after that. Then there's therapy." Dr. Vincennes took a deep breath before concluding, "All in all, I think you're looking at four to six months. The good news is he should have full function and full motion after that. We just need your permission to go ahead."

Rita, of course, agreed to the surgery, and the doctor left, leaving her alone with Chris. She sat down in the chair beside him, feeling the emotion building inside her again. Tears trickled down her face as she thought back to a time, almost two years before, when she sat next to Chris in a hospital room. This time, the gunshot wound was not life-threatening, but it very easily could have been.

She took a deep breath and looked around the room, "Well, Christopher, here we are again. Why does this keep happening to you - to us? We keep putting bad people away, and there are more to step in and take their places. The surgeon says he's going to get you fixed up tomorrow morning and then we can move forward."

Chris woke a little later and he and Rita talked through the events of the attack and his upcoming surgery. Chris rubbed her tummy and told her how thankful he was that she was unhurt. She told him the hunt for Montoya was up.

Frannie arrived, bringing food for Rita. "I'll bet you haven't eaten since this morning, sweetie, and you're eating for two. If it doesn't bother your husband here, I want you to get to work on this." Rita opened the Styrofoam container and looked at a half turkey sandwich, a small salad, mixed fruit, and a brownie. She thanked Fran for her thoughtfulness, who smiled and said, "Just don't you worry about that, you eat. If you're still hungry, it's a couple of minutes to the cafeteria and I'll get you more."

Chris was dozing, and Fran was talking with Rita, who had finished eating, when her phone rang. "Yeah, Serg...uh, Lieutenant Lance," she chuckled at Frannie. The new rank took a little getting used to. She listened for a moment before looking at Frannie and responding. "Hey Cap...really?..." she stood up as she spoke. "Is everyone alright?...good...yes, seal off the scene and get more help. Thanks, Cap, and good work."

The call had roused Chris from sleep and he was listening along with Fran. "That was Harry. He, Holly, and a couple of officers found Montoya, gave chase, and ran him to ground. He shot at them and they took him down. Jesus Montoya is dead, and there are no injuries on our side."

Rita took Frannie's hand, then walked over and kissed Christopher. "They got him, Chris. He's dead. It's done." Chris put his right arm around his wife and spoke softly, "It's alright, Rita, and I'm going to be alright."

* * *

Monday, December 11, 1995

9:45am - Good Samaritan Medical Center

Rita waited anxiously with Harry and Fran as the operation progressed. The surgeon had confirmed his estimate of ninety minutes earlier that morning before Chris had gone back. She had hugged and kissed him and told him she loved him before he left, but two hours had now passed and there was still no word. She tried to remain calm, but she could feel the tension rising. She began to imagine all kinds of things going wrong. She nearly lost him yesterday and it would be crushing to lose him now, when the danger from Montoya had passed.

She was just about to get up and speak with the nurse when the nurse put down her phone, stood up, and walked over to her. "Come with me to the consulting room and Dr. Vincennes will be in shortly to visit with you."

The 'shortly' was only about ten minutes, but it seemed an eternity before he walked into the room, still wearing his scrubs and hat while holding his mask. All three of them stood up. "Mrs. Lorenzo, your husband," - that little phrase still took some getting used to - "came through surgery with flying colors. We were able to repair the bursa sac and the joint to pretty much good as new - well, as good as you would expect for a guy in his early thirties."

Frannie put her arm around and Rita with a smile and Harry exhaled a sigh of relief. Rita replied, "Thank you so much - it took quite a bit longer than you anticipated." The statement hung there as a question.

"It did," the surgeon smiled, "due to a technical glitch. We actually got started about twenty minutes later than we planned because one of our monitors malfunctioned and we had to track down a replacement - it happens. I also found some scar tissue in his shoulder from an old injury, so I went ahead and cleaned that up as well. Chris should have a normal recovery and, in about six months, his left shoulder should feel better and be stronger than it was before yesterday."

The surgeon concluded with, "Thanks so much for your patience. My surgical assistant is closing him up and then he's headed to recovery." The surgeon looked at the clock, "He should be awake and in a room around noon."

The surgeon left and Rita hugged both of her companions, incredibly relieved that all had gone well.

* * *

Tuesday, December 12, 1995

12:50pm - Chris Lorenzo's loft

"It's good to be home again," Chris said as he and Rita walked through the door of his apartment. "And now...", he said, peeling off the bit of gauze and tape in the crook of his right elbow that the nurse had put there after removing his IV. He wadded it up and gave it a toss, banking it off the side of the kitchen island and into the garbage, "just like Dominique Wilkins."

"Take it easy, hot-shot," she said with a laugh, "No basketball for you for a while, along with a lot of other things. I want that arm better so you can get back to normal! Being laid up is going to drive you crazy and based on the recovery time, you'll be well in time to hold a little baby."

Chris walked over to Rita and put his arm around her waist. "Wait, what 'lot of other things' are you referring to?" he asked as he slowly slid his hand up toward her chest.

"Nice try, Casanova," she said with a smile, pushing his hand down. "I didn't say everything, just some things. Mostly anything that requires two hands."

"Oh, so no washing dishes, no cleaning, no taking out the trash, vacuuming...? I got it."

Rita responded with mock seriousness. "You put all those on hold and you're going to find it almost impossible to do the one thing I know you love - get in my knickers."

Chris' right hand moved down her backside, inside her slacks, then up under her shirt, then back down. No matter how she pushed his hand away, it found a new place to touch. She finally stepped away, laughing. "Ok, Chris, even with one hand tied, it's like you have three more. Let's get you something to eat."

* * *

12:55pm - Outside Chris Lorenzo's loft

"Definitely. I just watched them go in. She looks fine, but his left arm is in a sling. Maybe our hitter at least winged him...You know it…it's a game of inches. Four inches to the right and Lorenzo would be cold and stiff right now, same with the wife...I'm not moving, you're paying me to stick here and report and that's just what I'm going to do."

* * *

1:00pm - An old apartment across town

Four men sat around a table, each with a shot glass. A bottle of Smirnoff sat in the middle of the table, partially filled. The curtains were closed and despite the noonday sun, the room was dim.

The leader of the group spoke. "It's been confirmed, Montoya is dead, and that leaves me in charge. Hector has eyes on Lorenzo and the wife. They have returned home and his arm is in a sling. He's seen the tapes and she probably has as well."

Another man spoke up. "And it's been confirmed that Stephens is dead, yes?"

The leader replied, "Yes, our man said one of the two shot him in the neck when the hit went down. He bled out and died on the spot - just about separated his head from the rest of him."

The third man at the table poured himself another and set the bottle down. "So what's our next move? Quiller had the tapes as his insurance, who else besides Lorenzo has seen them?"

The leader spoke again. "Before he was gunned down, Montoya said he gave the woman back with the understanding that Lorenzo had found the tapes and hadn't shown them to anyone else. Montoya's idea was to make the exchange, get the tapes and then have the hitter kill them both. Clearly, that failed. It will not fail a second time."

He poured himself a drink and put his pistol on the table. "Put the word out. One hundred thousand dollars to anyone in our organization that kills those two and brings me proof. We have just declared war on Lorenzo and his wife."

* * *

7:30pm - Chris Lorenzo's loft

Harry patted his belly and pushed his chair back, completely satisfied. "That was an excellent dinner, Rita." Frannie and Chris both nodded in agreement.

Rita stood up to clear the table. "Thank you. I'm working hard to improve my craft, since we're going to have another mouth to feed before too long. It helps that Chris is a pretty good cook himself."

"I'll give you a hand cleaning up," Fran said as she stood up, "Then the two of us better head out. You two are probably exhausted after the last couple of days." When Rita told her she could do the dishes, Frannie responded, "Don't you dare try to shoo me away! I'm helping you out and that's all there is to it!"

Forty-five minutes later, Chris and Rita were by themselves, sitting on the sofa. Rita was curled up with him, lazily running her hand over his sling and then up to his chest. "I love you so much, Christopher. The time with Montoya was terribly frightening."

Chris was afraid to ask, but had to, "Rita, did he...uh...do anything to y..."

"Absolutely not. I was scared to death about that, too. But you know something? As creepy and evil as he was, there was a certain sense of honor in him where I was concerned. Maybe because of what you put here," she patted her belly, "I don't know, but he didn't touch me. And he wouldn't let anyone else get close."

"Good."

"But that doesn't mean that you can't touch me."

"Really? Do you want me to rub your shoulders again? Remember how that turned out the last time?" Chris was snickering as he spoke.

"You've only got one good hand. You're going to have to get creative." Rita looked up him with those half-lidded eyes and that smile that always turned him on, then moved up and kissed him, her hands roaming his chest before drifting down. "But that's one of the things I love about you - your creativity." She took his right hand and placed it under her shirt on her belly before whispering, "The seat belt sign is off - feel free to move about the cabin..."

* * *

10:30pm - Chris Lorenzo's loft

Rita Lorenzo slept peacefully next to her husband. Her head was resting on his chest and his right arm was wrapped around her. Chris looked at her, still trying to process how incredibly blessed he was to end up with her. It had been a whirlwind few months. So much had changed in so little time. Rita had transitioned from his partner to the person trying to push him back to Jillian to his lover to the mother of his child and now his wife. They had loved each other for so long and fought those feelin...

A noise downstairs snapped him back to the present in an instant. It seemed out-of-character with the sounds he normally heard - the fridge turning on, the dishwasher cycling, the regular ticking of the clock on the wall. He tensed, straining his hearing for any additional sound. There it was again!..and he recognized the sound this time. It was the outside door moving on its hinges.

Someone had managed to pick the lock and was entering the apartment.

He put his hand over Rita's mouth and whispered in her ear, "Rita! Someone is in the apartment. Get your gun and don't make a sound!"

The light coming in from the side window in the upper part of the loft reflected in Rita's eyes and he could see she was fully awake and a bit fearful. She quietly rolled over and grabbed her pistol. Chris took his nine millimeter and handed it to Rita as a backup, then took his forty caliber and sat up in bed.

A shadow slowly crossed by the window outside the bedroom area - at least one person was on the fire escape. This had the makings of an ambush. Chris felt a surge of adrenaline and his mouth went dry. He silently pointed at Rita and then at the window, making a walking motion with the fingers of his right hand. That was to be their escape route if necessary.

Chris quietly got down off the bed, so thankful for the foam mattress that didn't squeak, and out of the direct line of the window. Rita would cover that and he did not want to get in the middle of a potential cross-fire. His wife climbed out of bed onto the floor, and it was then he realized she was naked - there was no time to dress right now. He whispered a prayer, "God, please protect my wife and baby. If I have to die, let them live."

There were muted footsteps in the kitchen - it was more than one person. Then there were footsteps on the stairs. The bottom three steps always creaked, and he could sense the hesitation of whoever was down there. They were waiting - listening - to see if the squeak had wakened their targets. The targets were indeed awake, waiting for the moment to spring. The intruders began their slow approach again, quietly ascending the steps. They were coming...

Chris looked at Rita, mouthed an 'I love you' to her, then raised his head a few inches to view the steps, saw the shadow of the man, and squeezed off a round.

What followed was two minutes of bedlam.

Chris' first shot ripped through the forehead of the lead gunman coming up the stairs, blowing out the back of his head and showering the three men behind him with blood and brains. Chris ducked back as the room erupted in a blazing barrage of gunfire. The fire escape window shattered under a separate fusillade, as bullets sprayed in all directions.

Rita waited a moment, then popped up from behind her side of the bed with both nines and fired two shots from each. The figure standing silhouetted in the window frame screamed as three of the four slugs ventilated his torso, shredding his lungs and heart.

Wood was splintering and glass was shattering. Chris moved forward again, struggling against the injured shoulder and the fragments of everything exploding around them. Two men came charging up the stairs with machine guns on full auto.

Rita and Chris dropped flat to the ground, pouring fire into the assailants. Their aim was truer and both men fell backwards, dead from their wounds, but firing slugs into the ceiling as they fell to the floor below, fingers still holding the triggers down.

Chris looked over at his wife to see her quickly sliding shoes on - good for her! Her mind was always quick like that. She looked at him, then past him and screamed, "Chris!" He instinctively rolled under the bed as the wood floorboards where he had just been were chopped to pieces, thanks to another man on the fire escape with a machine gun.

Rita fired another four rounds, putting the man down, again with three hits through the throat, nose, and mouth.

There was a moment of silence. The smell of gunpowder hung heavy, along with the metallic smell of blood, which was now all over the torn-up apartment.

Rita slowly got to her knees and began to stand up when Chris reached out from under the bed with his right hand and yanked her down as bullets exploded from another machine gun and ripped through the space where her head had been just moments before. She hit the floor with a thud, momentarily senseless, but her husband had already grabbed his gun and was firing. His first bullet hit the gunman's hand, another blew through his elbow and a third went through his guts and lodged in his spine, paralyzing him and sending him toppling down the stairs.

He pulled the trigger again and his gun clicked - the clip was empty. As if reading his mind, Rita slid the nine from her left hand to him and he pushed himself out from under the end of the bed, took sight on the man crawling on the landing, and calmly dispatched him with a shot through the head.

Rita was weeping as he crawled to her, "I thought you were dead under the bed...I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."

"Rita, I'm fine...hang in there! My shoulder hurts but that's it. Are you hurt or hit?" When she shook her head, he took her hand. "We have to get out of here...now! There may be more coming."

She gathered her wits, threw on a t-shirt and shorts and turned to Chris, "Reload!"

Chris ejected the empty clip and grabbed the second clip from the nightstand, slammed it home and chambered a round, then picked up a third clip and put it in the pocket of his shorts. He slid on his sandals and looked at Rita. She held up both nines, each with a fresh clip, "Ready!"

He handed her his gun, then picked up a baseball bat and ran it around the edge of the window, removing the remaining glass shards. He took the forty back and put his head out the window then pulled it back - nothing. He counted to three and put it back out for a two-second scan.

A man!...by a car, with another gun, looking right at him! He dove back from the window as shells shredded the frame and thudded into the ceiling in a shower of wood splinters and dust. Chris screamed as he landed, and Rita yelled his name and dropped beside him, fearing he had been hit. Chris looked at Rita and put his finger to his mouth for silence.

The ruse worked. The firing stopped as the man below paused to insert a fresh magazine and evaluate whether his target was down. Chris stepped out, took aim and dropped the man with two shots.

They could hear sirens in the distance. Someone in the area had called 9-1-1, but this was no time to wait around. Escape was their only option. He took Rita's hand and they quickly descended the fire escape. Chris' car was parked in back and they jumped in. The keys! He had forgotten the keys.

"Sam! The keys, they're upst..."

"Nope," she said with a teary-eyed smile, "Here they are. I grabbed them for you, and our badges, my purse, and your wallet."

"You're a marvel," he said leaning over to kiss her.

"Drive, you fool! Get us out of here!" she said, yelling and hitting him on the back of the head.

He stomped the gas pedal and the old Challenger lurched forward with a raging squeal into the night.

* * *

Wednesday, December 13, 1995

1:00am - Camelot Motor Lodge, Palm Beach, FL

"Ow! Ow! Come on, Sam, are you trying to kill me?"

"Hold still, Christopher! You are such a baby sometimes. Just hold on...I think...", Rita gave a quick yank with her tweezers and Chris squealed.

"...and there it is! See?" Rita smiled, holding a one-inch splinter in the tweezers. There was blood about half way up the small wood spear. This one had come from his back. She laughed and kissed his shoulder, "We probably should have pulled that one before you jumped in the car." She dropped it in the ashtray with all the others and then scanned his back again for any she might have missed.

"I think that does it - tough guy."

Chris had already checked his wife over, pulling several splinters and small glass shards from her torso, back, legs, and bottom. He had gently kissed each spot after the extraction.

The adrenaline was still pumping through them after their narrow escape. Chris had driven as quickly as he dared, doubling back on their route several times to shake any potential followers before heading out of the downtown area and north on Highway 1. They had stopped here because it was small, quiet, out-of-the-way, and offered them an easy escape if they needed it.

After check-in, 'Mr. Williamson' had run up the street to the gas station to pick up a few things. 'Mrs. Williamson' stayed in the room, because he needed her t-shirt - they had just one between them, and clothing stores weren't open at midnight. He had returned twenty minutes later with a couple of warmed-up burritos, two sodas, bottled water, some packages of instant coffee, toothbrushes and paste, and a safety razor. He took off the t-shirt and tossed it back to Rita.

As they ate, they took stock of their appearance and noticed all the scrapes, small cuts, and splinters they had. The next hour had been a tedious and sometimes painful time of minor surgery for both of them.

They inventoried their possessions. In addition to what Chris had picked up at the gas station, they had their shoes, firearms, badges, and shorts. Chris also had his wallet and Rita had the t-shirt and her purse. That was it. Their phones were back at the apartment...

* * *

1:05am - Chris Lorenzo's loft

...Harry Lipschitz picked up the pieces of Rita's cell phone. Chris' was still intact on the floor, but hers was broken, another victim of the attack.

As he looked around again, his phone rang.

He opened it, answered, and listened for a moment. His hand went to his forehead, and he took a deep breath, "I have never been so glad to hear your voice in my life! First off, are you and Chris alright?"

"Yeah, Cap, we're pretty good. A bit knocked about - scrapes and scratches - but nothing more. I'm fine, the baby's fine, Chris is pretty good. But his pain is coming back and we didn't pick up his medicine on the way out."

Harry watched his officers examine the bodies. "What in God's name happened here? I have never seen anything like this in all my years. We've got eight dead here - seven in and around your apartment and one victim in the adjacent apartment, killed by machine gun fire that went through the wall."

Harry heard Rita speaking to Chris, "I'm sorry, Christopher, but Marge is one of the victims. Machine-gun fire went through the walls and killed her." Chris hung his head. Mrs. Wurthers was the original tenant in the building and had lived there nearly fifteen years after her husband passed.

"Harry, it was definitely an ambush of some kind. We're not sure why. We were talking a few minutes ago and figured it must have been a revenge hit for Montoya...maybe? But that's only a guess."

"Where are you now? At your place?"

"Absolutely not! I haven't been there for a while, but I have a few things there until the lease ends - no way I want to go there. Uh, we won't say where we are right now, but we're alright. We don't have our phones and we only have one t-shirt between us and no other clothes. We have our weapons, our badges, and a little money, so we're alright for the time being. How does the apartment look?"

"A total loss, Rita. Gunfire into the ceiling shorted the wiring and started a small fire, which set off the sprinkler systems. They only half-worked, again thanks to your visitors, so we arrived to smoke, fire, and water. The place is a wreck, bodies and blood and bullet holes everywhere - the most disgusting thing I've ever seen. How the two of you - three of you - survived...it's a miracle!"

Rita said, "We have to go, so see what you can find out about this and we'll be in touch."

"I will and you take care," he said as he hung up.

Holly stepped over to Harry, "This is unbelievable! Somebody either hit the wrong targets or somebody wants my new partner and his wife dead very badly."

Harry put his hands on his hips and said, "We have to find out which it is, and fast!"

* * *

1:10am - Camelot Motor Lodge

The warm water cascaded over Chris' aching body. The combination of surgery, a lack of medicine, and being shot at by an army of assassins had taken its toll. The shower curtain moved and in stepped Rita – naked, tired, and stunning.

She put her arms around her husband and he turned to let her enjoy the water.

"Mmm, that feels so good. Thank you. What are we going to do, Chris?"

"I'm thinking we might speed up our search for a new place," he said, smiling at her.

"No, this is more than that. I feel it. Someone is out to get us."

"Someone 'was' out to get us. I think we got them."

"You think so, Chris? I'm not sure, but I hope you're right. For the first time, I'm really scared for our child."

"Rita," Chris said, putting his hands on her cheeks. "I will die before I will let anyone harm you or the baby, but we will be fine. I think it's over. Maybe these were some of Montoya's men, and we took them down."

They held each other for a long time under the spray. It was only when the water was cooling on its own that they got out, dried off, and collapsed into bed in each other's arms.

* * *

7:30am - Palm Beach PD

Harry, a bit bleary-eyed, walked through the doors and stopped. "Ok everyone, I want some answers. What have we got?"

Holly, who looked just as tired as he felt and had been compiling the papers, stood up. "Captain, we've all been working, and initial reports aren't good. Three of the seven bodies - yeah, Chris and Rita took down seven shooters with machine guns - have been positively identified and we know they worked for Montoya at some level. The other four we're still working on."

She flipped a page, "The guys down in vice did a sweep and brought in five dealers early this morning. Two of them were low-lifes in the Montoya food chain and one said there's a rumor of a hundred-thousand-dollar cash prize for the dead bodies of the Lorenzos."

Harry thought for a moment, "Whoa, whoever took over for Jesus Montoya isn't messing around. Ok, Chris and Rita are holed up somewhere. I know they need clothes. What else? What can we do to help them?"

Holly responded immediately, "Absolutely nothing, until they call and ask. And nobody makes a move to track them down. If the bounty is truly out there, we should not risk being followed and leading someone to them. I will be responsible to get some things together for them. It's the least I can do for my partner."

Harry squinted and asked, "How are y..."

"Don't ask me any questions. You don't need to know."

"I'm not sure I want to know."

* * *

10:30am - The parking lot of a park, near some restrooms

Holly Rawlins parked the car and got out. Decked out in Lycra jogging shorts and a running top, it was time for her three-mile daily. Even though it was later than her normal time of six in the morning, the temperature was still pleasant, and traffic on the walking paths would be light. She badly needed this to calm her nerves.

Breaking into Rita's apartment had been easy. The upstairs window in the back of the apartment wasn't even a serious challenge - she had arrived just before eight, but trash pickup wasn't until tomorrow and two junk wooden boxes stacked on the garbage dumpster created a makeshift ladder. A little window-frame manipulation and she was in. It was child's play when one had the skills.

The place was dark and she moved soundlessly using a small penlight in the left hand, pistol in the right. She made her way to the first room and looked around. There was a dresser and a closet. In the closet, she found a medium-sized suitcase - perfect! - it made the thirteen-gallon trash bag stuffed in her pocket redundant.

She carefully examined the dresser, pulling loose-fitting shirts, shorts, and slacks - two pair of each. A couple of long t-shirts, four pairs of socks, some underwear, two bras, one pair of running shoes and a pair of sunglasses. She found a few of Chris' things in another drawer - she smiled at the thought of the two of them - so she filled the other half with his clothes and a pair of his sneakers from the closet. She was done. She glanced at her watch - four minutes flat - six more minutes, then time to go. She decided to do a quick check of the downstairs before leaving.

It was a decision that nearly ended her life.

She set the suitcase down at the top of the stairs. It was deathly quiet as she descended the curved staircase, making no sound, the penlight lighting a tiny pathway. She stopped three steps from the bottom when the light reflected off a cobweb running across the step in front of her.

She smiled at the thought of a poor, lonely spider in this big place, then realized it was not a cobweb, but a string - no, fishing line - a thin, translucent fishing line. She squinted, puzzled for a moment, then looked up to think. Her light reflected off more cobwebs crisscrossing the room. Suddenly Holly understood, and her skin began to crawl. She twisted the penlight to full beam, looked for a moment in the greater light, and gasped.

The downstairs of Rita's apartment had been rigged - the cobwebs were tripwires. Each window had two cobwebs attached, and there were three cobwebs running from the front door. Her light traced them all back to a small table, four feet from the front door. On the table was a detonator and all the cobwebs ran into it. The detonator was attached to - she counted - twelve, fourteen, no, sixteen blocks of C4.

Holly felt the nausea build in her, her bowels loosened, and she struggled not to vomit, realizing that one more step would have flattened the building and its next-door twin. There would not have been a single recognizable piece of her left to identify.

She took a couple of deep breaths, trying to quell the shakes that had taken over. It was really time to go. She needed to call the Captain, and she needed to find a bathroom. She was terrified for Chris and Rita - this was way beyond serious now. She thought for a moment and added to two more stops to her list - a gun shop and a Walgreens pharmacy.

Holly stretched for a few moments, worked her arms a bit, and took off down the path. The outfit was a bit more revealing than she normally wore, but her intent was to cause an extra bit of distraction today. If she was successful, so much the better. She hoped anyone watching have their minds in a gutter, giving Chris and Rita more chance for success, should they take this opportunity. She was grateful Harry had approved the car rental and hoped like mad he got the message right should her partner call. As she ran, the terror she had experienced began to fade as the endorphins woke up, but not her fear for the Lorenzos.

* * *

2:00pm - Tequesta Palms Inn - Palm Beach, FL

The air was getting heavier as the day progressed and the predicted storms were popping up to the west and south of Palm Beach.

Chris and Rita had risen just after dawn, still tired after the previous night's ordeal and flight to safety. Rita's morning sickness flared up again and she had vomited several times. They had called Harry just after eight and got his update, which wasn't good. It sounded as though Montoya's friends and cohorts were indeed after them, and the jackpot was substantial.

"We still have nothing, Cap, and we're going to have to move," Chris had told him, "Based on your news, I don't want to stay in this place much longer."

"Chris, your partner is working to get you some things you need. Lay low and call me...", he looked at his watch, "...at ten thirty. Hopefully we'll have something."

Chris hung up and Rita said, "We should move - just in case." Chris nodded, "Yeah, let's go."

After grabbing a bite to eat from a drive-thru McDonald's, they drove around a bit, since it was almost impossible to check in to any hotel before eleven. At just before ten thirty, Chris stopped at a gas station with a pay phone and Rita called.

"Hey Rita, here's the deal. Holly got into your apartment - don't ask me how, but she did - and got some things together for you and Chris." Rita smiled. Ok, she took back a few of the private thoughts she had about Chris' new partner. Holly was pretty sharp. Harry continued, "She told me to tell you she put everything in the trunk of a rental that's located in the exact spot where you and Chris arrested Lauren Alexander a couple years back. She said you would figure out where that was." Ok, Holly was really sharp.

"We got it, Cap, thank you, and thank Holly. Give that girl a raise."

"I need a requisition from her boss - that's you. Put it in writing." Rita laughed at his quick wit. "Uh, Rita, one other thing. Holly said your place was rigged with enough explosives to level half of Palm Beach. She was shaking like a leaf when she got back and said she was six inches from blowing herself to bits. The bomb squad is going there now to untangle the mess before someone opens the door and blows that side of town sky-high. Rita? Rita?"

"Yeah, I heard you, Cap, thanks. That is bad. We have to go. We'll be in touch."

She walked back to the car, quite pale. The Captain's report had flipped a switch in her. In her heart, she knew it was time to go - for good, for their safety, and for the baby. How would she tell Chris? She said nothing when he asked what was wrong, instead telling him she was still sick.

They drove to the park on Beech and Palmetto, making two laps around the place, looking for possible trouble. Not seeing any, they parked next to the car. In the trunk, Chris saw Rita's suitcase and three additional bags. Inside of thirty seconds, they were gone and the rental car was empty.

They had driven back out of town and checked in at the small Tequesta Palms Inn. The 'Jeffersons', as they were known to the front desk, had gone to their room and unpacked the stuff Holly had gathered. Clothes, shoes, "underwear! She's a wonder!," Rita had exclaimed, and an extra pair of her sunglasses.

Chris had opened the bags; one contained two boxes of ammunition - nine millimeter and forty caliber. His new partner could never replace Rita, but she was capable, he thought. The other bags contained several hair-coloring kits, scissors, and a couple of floppy hats. Holly had written a two-line note on a yellow sticky that read, _Use this - change your looks a little before you go_.

Chris looked at his wife, "Why all this? Change my looks? Where does she think we're going?"

Rita took a deep breath, "Your partner is really smart and she knows what's coming."

It was time to level with him and this was how their first fight as a married couple began. Rita told him about her apartment and the explosives. She reminded him of the bounty. The longer they stayed alive, the higher that number would go. They needed to leave - and not come back.

It was understandable that Chris wanted to stay. "We fought them, Rita, and we beat them. We always come out ahead in the end. Do you really want to go?"

"Of course not, Chris. I want to stay. Our friends are here and our family is here, but it's become impossible. They destroyed our apartment last night. They were willing to destroy a city block at my old place. They won't stop! They only have to succeed once to kill us. We will have to succeed every time to stay alive."

"I think after a couple of days, it will blow over. I vote we wait it out a bit," he gave her a smile that she did not return.

It was just like Chris to be brave and nonchalant, but bravery wasn't enough anymore. "Chris, look at your shoulder. That is just the start. Cap said our place was filled with bullet holes - they killed Mrs. Wurthers by proxy without a moment's thought! I'm frightened for you, for me, for all three of us. We need to go."

Chris shook his head. "No, I'm not leaving. I'm not running away like a scared little girl." Chris realized his mistake a moment too late.

Rita exploded, eyes blazing and fingers pointed at him. "Really? A scared little girl? Is that what you think I am? How dare you! I took on seven gunmen in my birthday suit with you! I nearly got my brains blown out!" Chris tried to tell her he didn't mean that, but she was too far gone to listen.

"All you care about is your life on the force - the action, the thrill of the chase. Now we're the ones being chased and you think this is some kind of game that will end after four quarters. It's never going to end, Chris - until we're corpses! This isn't some crazed woman like Deborah Buchard, some lone wolf. They're going to keep coming and keep coming until they win!"

She took a breath and continued blasting away. "Listen to you - 'I'm not leaving' and 'I'm not running'. It's all about you, isn't it, Chris. It's all about you." She walked over and put her finger in his chest. "Let me tell you something, when you put this ring on my finger and filled me up with a baby, it stopped being just about you! Your ego and your pride want us to stay in Palm Beach...well, your ego and pride will get us killed along with our child! I won't have it! I will not jeopardize our child. With or without you, I will protect our baby!" She turned toward the sliding glass door, running her hands through her hair.

"Rita, I didn't mean it like that, it's just that our lives are here, we've got a decade of service in thi..." His voice faded to nothing when she turned, eyes glaring and face red with rage.

She spoke in a hoarse whisper, "That's the same thing you said to Jillian." She took another step toward him, pointed a finger at his face, and spat out, "Maybe you should have stayed in Boston." She turned and headed for the patio garden.

Then Chris blew up, "Don't you dare talk to me like that! You pushed me to Boston, and you know it! Don't act like that was my idea! You were hoping I'd leave! You didn't want me around anymore! Rita Lee, get back here!" he yelled, but she was already sliding the door open. When he came after her, she glared at him again, "You put one foot on this patio, and Montoya's minions will only have me to kill..." She pushed the slider closed with a thud, turned her back on him, and walked to the middle of the garden. Chris shook his head and threw the Revlon box he was holding on the floor in anger. He sat on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands and thought for a long while before getting up and heading for the door.

* * *

3:15pm - Tequesta Palms Inn - Palm Beach, FL

Rita quietly walked through the slider and into the room. It was empty and silent. Chris was gone. She stared for a moment, her lip began to quiver and she looked frantically around the room for the car keys, which she couldn't see anywhere. Please God, no! She ran to the front window to check the parking lot, throwing open the curtain...

...the bathroom door opened and Chris walked out in a towel rubbing his hair. She looked at him and he removed the towel from his head. "What do you think?"

Rita blinked through her tears - then blinked again. Chris was completely blonde and his hair was cut to just a quarter inch.

"When a person starts a new life, it should always be with new hair," he said with a smile, trying to gauge her response. "It's not perfect, but...?"

Rita burst into tears and ran to her husband, throwing her arms around him and burying her face in his chest. His left shoulder throbbed in pain, but he worked to ignore it.

"I'm so sorry, Christopher, I'm so sorry for the things I said. They were wicked and cruel. Please forgive me. I love you, Christopher, please know I do, I'm so sorry," she was sobbing into his chest, "I love you."

"Rita, I'm sorry, too. I was being selfish, only thinking of myself - well, I was trying to think of what you wanted, too, but I wasn't listening to you. I'm really sorry. And you know I love you, too."

They talked some more, cried together, talked about old cases and their life before and their life now. They hugged and held each other.

"I thought about it while you were outside, and you're right. I don't think we can stay. I don't want to go, but I think we have to."

"Christopher, I don't want to leave, either, but it's the right thing. If something were to happen to you,..."

"It is the right thing, Rita."

"To where?"

"Well, I've been thinking about that...but first, go do something with that hair of yours," he said with a smile.

* * *

3:15pm - Palm Beach PD

"Holly, sit down. Jeff just called and the Bomb Squad finished up at Rita's old place. He said it wasn't really sophisticated, but it would have been very effective." he paused as she adjusted her skirt. "What do you think they're doing? How are we going to get them back to a normal life?"

"Harry, I don't know Rita well, but I can tell you, they won't have a normal life here."

"Well, probably not until things settl..."

"No, Harry, they're not coming back. They will not walk through those doors again. After seeing their apartments, I know Montoya's men will do anything to kill Chris and Rita. Rita knows that, too. There is no way a mom-to-be will endure this. They are going to leave - they have to - and you're going to have to accept that. I don't know when or how, but it's going to happen."

Captain Lipschitz thought for a few moments before nodding slowly and putting his head in his hands, "I want so badly for you to be wrong, but I think you're right..." He picked up the phone and waited a moment. "What's the status of Price's transfer? Yeah?...I need it expedited any way possible..."

* * *

Thursday, December 14, 1995

4:45pm - Parkview Motor Lodge, Palm Beach, FL

They were ready.

They had checked into Parkview the previous evening as the 'Rawlins', deciding to borrow Holly's last name. Chris' blonde-stubbled head was still rather comical to his wife, but she was all right with it - for now. His original color would be back in a few weeks, but they would be long gone by then.

Yesterday's argument had been resolved with communication, correction, and emotional release. Then darkness had fallen last evening, and Chris was sitting up in bed, his left shoulder in pain - he would need something stronger than aspirin - when she came to him. She completely and totally loved Christopher. More than life itself, she loved him. Death with his love was preferred to life without it. She would give her life for him - he had certainly been willing to do that for her.

She stood at the end of the bed in her knee-length t-shirt and just looked at her beautiful husband. She reached to her hips, wriggled out of her underwear, and tossed them next to him. She is a goddess, Chris thought. A picture of flawless, exquisite perfection. She was perfect in every way and perfect for him. He would love this woman until the day he died - beyond death, if that was possible.

She gently climbed on top of him, straddled his thighs, and stuck her tongue in his ear, which drove him wild. She whispered, "I know I'm already pregnant, but I need you to spend some quality time tonight trying to plant another baby in me. Are you up for that, Sam?" Chris needed no further urging, and the dance began. They spent half the night in wild, unbridled passion and then collapsed after midnight, exhausted, spent, satisfied, the two of them becoming one flesh.

Today had been all business.

They had talked through as many contingencies as they could think of. He had used the motel phone several times, working our arrangements with various contacts, each of which had one specific task, but knew nothing of its connection to anyone else. Rita had watched his mind work, amazed at his skill in weaving through the maze of details their escape entailed. Chris had also driven up the road to a small used-car lot, where he traded his Challenger straight up for a rather worn, medium-blue, high-mileage Mazda Protege. He hated to do it, but his classic was surely marked, and while the replacement lacked V-8 power, it was dependable and as nondescript as he could get on the spur of the moment.

She looked in the mirror, still coming to grips with her new look. Her dark hair was gone. It had been replaced by absolutely straight hair that ended above her neck and followed the contours of her face, featuring sandy blonde color streaked with brown. Considering she didn't have any salon help, it wasn't too bad. She altered her makeup, subtly changing her appearance. The sunglasses and floppy tourist hat completed the look. With the shades on, from five feet away, it was very difficult to recognize Rita Lorenzo. Just as she had hoped.

As the sun settled in the west, they knew it was time.

Chris told her, "Let's go...you ready?" When Rita nodded, he said, "I'll make the call."

He dialed the number. It rang once and was answered. "Hey Cap, we'd like to meet with you and Frannie this evening. Is that possible?" He listened. "Excellent, check our old case files. We'll be at the location where I took down Charles Lantman at six sharp...excellent, see you then."

* * *

6:00pm - Industrial park - Highway 9 past Dark Wood Road

Chris and Rita waited quietly on a hill just up the road from the meeting place. They watched Harry and Frannie get out of their car and walk up the short incline to the bench. The two of them were retracing the steps Chris had taken when he charged Charles Lantman in another time. Now there was a walkway to a small park with benches and tables where employees often ate lunch. Four years ago, it was an empty lot.

Rita looked at Chris with a smile, "They weren't followed. Let's go."

The meeting with Harry and Frannie was brief and emotional. The Captain completely understood their decision, despite being unhappy about it. "But Rawlins helped me see past my own wants and realize this is right. We are going to work like crazy to root out Montoya's people and make this place safe for you again." He turned away to wipe his eyes, not wanting them to see.

"It's alright to cry, Harry," Frannie said with tears in her eyes. "Everybody else here is."

Chris complimented his new partner, "You tell Holly I'm proud to have worked with her, if only for a little while. She is the second-best partner I've ever had, and will be the best partner for anybody else. Be sure to tell George it's been an honor."

"Where will you go?" Harry's voice was cracking.

"North," Rita said. "We won't say more than that for now, but don't worry. You will hear from us - definitely when the baby is born." She looked at Chris, who nodded. "We want you as godparents for our child, so you will stay informed."

Poor Frannie was weeping now, and Rita hugged her through her own tears, telling her she loved her. Rita turned and hugged Harry, then handed him both of their badges. He looked at them in his hand and burst into tears.

"I said it before, but you're the best homicide team I've ever had, and two of the best people I've ever known. I will miss you terribly. You're like our daughter, Rita."

Harry shook Chris' hand before hugging him. "I love you like a son, Chris."

Chris wiped his eyes and handed Harry a piece of paper. On it were two numbers. "Don't lose this, Cap. We should be at our destination in less than a week. I had a telecom wizard-friend set this up. Dial the first number, let it ring once and hang up. Dial the second number, let it ring three times and hang up. Dial the first number again. One of us will answer."

"Goodbye, you two...just for now, I hope..." Harry let the statement dangle.

"We certainly hope for that," Rita said, before turning to Chris. "It's time, and we have a long way to go."

Chris and Rita walked down the hill and back to their car, got in, and drove into the night. Harry and Frannie watched them go and stood for a while. He put the paper in his wallet and they left.

* * *

Saturday, December 16, 1995

11:30pm - Somewhere south of Knoxville, TN

Chris yawned as he drove. It had been another long day behind the wheel. As he and Rita drifted north, their fears had diminished. They were more and more certain the danger lay behind them.

That first night in a little hotel outside of Gainesville, Florida - after their goodbyes to Harry and Frannie - had been awful. Rita cried most of the night and hardly slept. She poured herself into the car at dawn, exhausted and beaten down with morning sickness. She was very irritable, and Chris had focused mostly on driving, leaving her to her thoughts and tears and trying to do whatever she wanted, especially when it involved stopping the car so she could throw up.

By the time they reached Athens, Georgia, Friday night, she was talking to him and things were good. She even laughed a few times as they talked about baby names for the first time. Maybe 'Allison Grace' for a girl, but there were other good choices, too. Rita suggested 'Nathan James' for a boy. Chris liked that and said he would think about it.

Today had been more mountain driving, slower and more treacherous in December. Chris wasn't really used to snow and cold. Rita talked with him for the first time about working, or not working, after the baby came. He wanted her to do what she thought was best. He was very surprised when she hinted she might want to try to get pregnant again right away. He had looked at her and she had laughed, "What? Don't look so surprised, Sam. I love children. You do, too, and I'm not getting any younger. Besides, you seem to really enjoy the 'getting pregnant' process, just about as much as I do", she added with a wink.

She was sleeping now and looked more beautiful than ever. He thought she might stick with the new hairstyle. It was actually quite attractive, even if the color - done in such haste - wasn't exactly right. As the midnight hour approached, the mountain road was empty. There wasn't a soul in sight...

...which is why it took nearly eight hours for rescue crews to reach the crash site where their Mazda Protege slid off an icy mountain curve and plunged ninety feet down a sheer drop into the trees, landing on its top. A fire, ignited by a ruptured oil line in the hot engine compartment, became a small inferno that scorched nearly fifty acres of the Nantahala National Forest before being contained. The car was reduced to a blackened shell and its occupants to nothing more than charred remains.

* * *

Saturday, December 23, 1995

3:30pm - Graveside, Palm Beach, FL

Harry and George Donovan stood next to the two freshly dug graves, covered with flowers. Both had been stunned to hear that Chris and Rita had been killed - after all they had survived - in a single-car accident. Diana Roth, now a Knox County Medical Examiner, had performed the autopsies and had confirmed their identities in a tearful news conference on a local Knoxville television station, an interview that was picked up and re-broadcast in Palm Beach and printed on the front of every Palm Beach newspaper. She had talked about her long-time friendship with the Lorenzos, particularly Rita, when she worked in Florida and the comfort she took in the certainty that they had died instantly on impact.

When she was told, Frannie had collapsed and refused to be comforted. Harry was crushed, but worked to remain strong for his wife and those in the office. It had been quiet when the Lorenzos left. After the news, it was deathly still. It would take a while to return to normal.

Their remains had been returned to Palm Beach and buried side-by-side yesterday with full honors. Even before learning of their deaths, Harry had mounted their badges in a plaque that hung on the wall behind his chair.

George patted Harry's back as they stood there, neither saying a word, each lost in his own thoughts, but each taking great comfort from the other. For a long time they looked down, before turning and leaving.

* * *

Monday, December 25, 1995

10:00am - Palm Beach PD

Harry sat at his desk. Christmas Day was usually quiet, even in warm, sunny Palm Beach. He had eaten a quiet breakfast with Fran this morning before coming to the office for a few hours. He would head home just before noon to spend the rest of the day with her.

The office was empty, including the two desks that belonged to Chris and Rita. He looked through the glass of his office and smiled, thinking back to the times when he yelled at them to get in here or walked by and heard some silly remark from Chris. The time Rita stormed out of his office when he demanded her gun and badge. He was glad for the memories, even if that was all he had.

He opened his desk drawer and there was the piece of paper Chris had given him before he left. It didn't matter now, but he'd never get rid of it. Ever. He had already told Frannie to bury him with it in his shirt pocket - next to his heart - with her picture.

He picked it up, twirled it in his hand, and thought for a moment. Oh, why not?

He dialed the first number, let it ring once, and hung up.

He dialed the second number, let it ring three times, and hung up.

His heart began to beat faster, though there was no reason for it. "Quit playing games with yourself, Harry Lipschitz," he said aloud.

He dialed the first number again. It rang, then rang again, and then stopped ringing. Harry caught his breath...

"Merry Christmas, Cap!" Harry Lipschitz started weeping. It was Rita, who was looking out the window of their cabin, the spires of the Grand Tetons in the distance. "Let me get Christopher. You have Frannie with you?"


End file.
